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Two Months Later
Reclining in my chaise on the balcony, outside the master bedroom, I sip my mint julep while casually observing Nick hard at work. His presence affects me, but it’s always professional. The problem is my memory—it’s like an elephant and recalls every detail, conversation, moment, as if replaying it on a video screen in my mind. Too many heated moments have passed between us, and it’s starting to feel like we will never cross the professional barrier into something more.
And I do want more.
I crave his electric touch like a junky craves heroine.
Nick is my heroine, and that drug has made getting out of bed in the morning possible.
A satisfied grin curls my lips as my eyes rest on Nick and as usual, I’m amazed. He takes pride in his new position as orchard manager and ensures that all the workers are well-trained and looked after. At the moment, he’s standing with Juan, our new hire, under a pecan tree several feet away. Rigel sits next to Nick as he and Juan chat. They look to be involved in an intense conversation, seemingly oblivious to my stalker gaze and Rigel’s adoration. My almost grown puppy spends most of his day trailing Nick, but at night he’s home with me.
Tearing my eyes away, I watch the bustle of workers as they wrap up for the day, happily heading home to their cabins at the far eastern edge of the pecan orchard. All of the cabins are full, thanks to Nick; he even hired a field manager to run the peanut production. He runs a tight ship, but the workers respect him and are content with their positions. The best part is that these new hires treat me with respect, they’re not a bunch of traitors like my last crew.
The orchard has never run so smoothly and the acquisition of the Carson land, which could have been so stressful, was a piece of cake. The new land aligns with our peanut fields and will triple the size of our peanut crop. Two hundred pecan seedlings have been planted along the edge of the fields, creating the perfect framework for a flourishing business. If this keeps up, we might surpass Ballentine’s production within the next ten years.
Looking down, I stare glumly at the divorce papers on my lap. I couldn’t be less interested in reading them but have forced myself to skim the pages. Everything looks to be in order, but the legal mumbo-jumbo bores me to no end. Giving up, I sigh, drop the papers, and stare up at the setting sky.
A lot has happened in the past two months, but time raced by with a blink of the eye.
Branson and I haven’t talked in weeks, but I learned that he and Clive had been together since shortly after my miscarriage. I was completely oblivious. I owe it to the fact that I was miserable and just ambling through life—through our marriage.
Although he was furious at first, Mr. Montgomery came around and has started speaking to his son again, but it’s still a sore subject. Those close to the couple know the truth about their relationship, but to the rest of the world, Branson took a position with Ballantine after his marriage to me fell apart.
No one dares speak the truth out loud because as much as being gay in the South is still, very much, the worst taboo in some circles, crossing Mr. Montgomery is worse. In fact, by order of Mr. Montgomery, a Defamation of Character clause had been negotiated into the divorce contract.
My lips are forever sealed on the matter. We’re both free. Neither of us could ask for anything more. Branson is happy, and I’m getting there.
The farm flourishes, and I’ve escaped the binds of a marriage that should never have happened. My eyes water when I think of the losses, of my parents, my baby. By the mercy of all that is holy, Branson and I have been given a second chance, a chance to make better decisions and to have what we truly desire.
A resolved sigh escapes my lips as I scan the orchard. My freedom is a double-edged sword—I’m alone again, lonely, sometimes to the point of desperation. Now that Branson’s gone, I have no one to talk to—I still miss his companionship.
I have Rigel, thank goodness. His devotion is something to be admired, but still...
My gaze levitates back to Nick. The remembrance of that rainy night, of his arms around me when my world came crashing down, brings immediate heat to my body, reminding me of just how lonely I am.
Nick is not an option for me. Since his return, he has only been professional. Without saying a word, he’s made it clear that his interest in me is strictly business. If I thought losing Clive was bad, losing Nick as manager would ruin me—in more ways than one.
Strictly business.
I have to respect that.
Besides, I’m through with making bad and often impetuous choices. So, I’ll remember the moments we shared, but it’s time to move on.
I want a man who can be with me. I want to experience real love with a man who loves me as much as I love him. Living on a farm, in the middle of Nowhere-Alabama, doesn’t exactly increase my chances of finding that man.
Pulling my attention back to the divorce papers, I read on. The farm has been in the Reilly family for generations and is safe in the divorce thanks to an airtight pre-nup—James made sure it was protected.
Each of us leaves the marriage with whatever we came in with. Had the Carson acquisition happened while we were together, we would have split the ownership, but given the circumstances, Branson has decided not to make an issue of it. It was my family’s money that paid for it, anyway, so I keep sole ownership of the farm. The rest are details that don’t much matter to me. Soon, I’ll meet with James to sign the final papers, and our sham of a marriage will finally be behind us.
Looking back on our marriage, now, it all seems so far away—like it didn’t even happen. It shouldn’t have happened, but I am thankful for the opportunity to move one. I certainly don’t miss Branson. Not really. But I miss having someone who cared for me, even if it was all a part he was playing. I’m more positive than ever that he saw me as a means of escape from his daddy and I am more than understanding on that front.
I miss my parents, I long for them, every single day. I’m so desperately lonely. How disappointed would Daddy be in my trail of bad choices since their tragic passing? I miss spending time with him, puttering around the farm or stargazing. Those nights spent gazing upon the heavens with my favorite person will never be forgotten. It’s those loving memories that get me through the tough moments.
Returning my attention skyward, I close my eyes, welcoming the last bit of sun on my face before it sets for the night. The slight breeze cools the air, making the otherwise dank humidity tolerable, and the fresh scent of magnolias in bloom invades my senses. It’s calming, Mamma always smelled of magnolias.
I need a hug. I need something.
I’m going stargazing. I need to. Finding the time to stargaze is a challenge because the farm keeps me busy. It’s either too hot or too rainy and the right balance can be difficult to find, but tonight is about as perfect as it can be.
Taking advantage of the clear night sky, means I’ll have to endure the sticky heat, but it will decrease as the temperature drops as it does most nights in early summer. At the moment, conditions are ideal and one of few opportunities to view Orion at its finest without having to endure the unscrupulous heat of a typical summer evening.
My eyes wander back to Nick, and his eyes meet mine as he nods a good night and then he and his new recruit stroll towards the cabins. Watching him walk away hits me in the chest—I love having him nearby. It soothes me, makes me feel safe, but he’s also a distraction. Checking myself, I snap out of it and wander into the bedroom.
Crouching beside the bed, I reach under and retrieve my leather telescope case and plop it down on the mattress. A smile crosses my lips as my fingers caress the brass tube of my antique telescope, admiring the slick cool surface. The change in temperature could sometimes fog the lenses, so I leave the case open, enabling the contents to acclimate as I prepare for the journey ahead.
Dressed in a pink, cotton, sleeveless, maxi-dress, I pull my hair into a ponytail. Eyeing my reflection before heading out seems silly since I’ll be alone, but I do it anyway, out of habit, because a lady always makes herself presentable before leaving her quarters. Mamma taught me that and enforced it without question. Staring into my own brown eyes—the one feature inherited from my mamma—my heart feels heavy with the pain of losing her.
I need this tonight. I need to be closer to Daddy, to Mamma, and stargazing is just the thing to do it. It’s as close as I can get anyway.
The reflection in the mirror shows the darkening sky behind me, so I snap out of it and prepare my gear. Giddy with anticipation, I toss a blanket and water bottle into my backpack, grab a folding chair and the leather case, and race down the stairs and out into the night.
Rigel, who was waiting for me on the porch, bounces along beside me for the half-mile walk to my usual spot on the northern edge of the pecan orchard. It’s a hike that could be done blindfolded because I’ve walked the path a thousand times. I always walk it, taking a car deprives me of the magic. Watching the sky transform from shades of pink and orange to purple and blood red, before the blackness takes over, always amazes me.
The progressing sunset lights the path for most of the hike, and then the moon and burst of stars between the trees take over, providing enough light for the remaining trek. The moment I move past the last of trees and into the open peanut field, my whole world changes. It’s like bursting out of a dark box and into Heaven’s light.
Hauling my gear through the southern humidity is a guaranteed workout, but I love every minute of it, even though it leaves me drenched in sweat. Dropping the gear, I stretch my arms above my head while scanning the evening sky. Orion shines brightly, and the stars of his belt glisten, demanding attention.
A night like this makes living secluded from civilization worth it.
Months of loneliness, being trapped in a marriage I never really wanted was only tolerable because I had this—my escape. Time spent with grandpa’s telescope, cleansed my soul and eased the burden of grief, even if just slightly. Gazing up at the stars, reminds me of Daddy—I’m closer to him on nights like this—it’s as close to a hug as I’m going to get.
Since Branson’s departure from my life, I’ve busied myself with the running of the orchard, leaving little time for socialization. Pecans and peanuts are my livelihood and the brilliant evening sky my only company.
Each time I peer through the eyepiece of my antique telescope, I think of Daddy. I miss him so much.
After taking a refreshing swig of water, I set up my chair, mount, and telescope, and then lean into the eyepiece. Overwhelmed with excitement, I focus in on Orion’s belt. Oh, how I love that constellation and the science behind its stars, but mostly Orion represents a connection to my beloved Daddy and in these moments with my eye to the sky, I’m with family.
Blissfully engrossed in the vibrant vision that is the Orion nebula, I take no notice in planet Earth until a shadow moves in front of my field of view. Startled, I shriek and jump back.